After the taking inHere's me after conceding and taking the Melissa Etheridge route this morning with apologies to Jane who wrote with care, and me who clammered a dapper dare.
what of the letting go and
the other parenthsis to thanks
the sweet atonement.
What of remembering of things forgotten.
There is a price for losing
the names of places we¹re from
or the reasons we came here.
We had words we used to greet each other.
The flowers had names like bee¹s bonnet
we ate our bread with cheese
and gathered the river reeds to make our brooms.
No longer the new immigrants fresh from the past
now we sit at the long table
in our jeans and T shirts.
We look like each other.
The First Thanksgiving Without
My Mother
and yet I feel her here
as clearly as the caw of the
crow
the ocean eating the rind
of the wave
the clouds gathering together
to cloak
the sun, as it bathes -
lizards on the mountain,
small, medium, and large,
darting, standing, watching
so clearly the guard,
for the fairies
as they dance
in the steps
stamped between -
feel elbows and knees -
and notes as they keen -
What now, brown cow,
I ask, as I search
for words to grace
this day of thanks’ worth -
what comes to mind
is the look of the milk
as it swirls in a cup
like a nebula tilled.
hmmmm - nausea
or rhyme -
is that what happens -
all lines up to tender a dime
and creativity floats
like a minor egg note
and climbs like a wagon a mine -
If you made it this far, and
congratulations if you did, we are going to the Mountain Home Inn for
Thanksgiving dinner. I am as excited as can be. May our
days be joyous and jubilant with ease.
cathy